


fight club

by hupsoonheng



Series: Nuclearstuck [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood, Breathplay, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Fight Club - Freeform, Fights, Gambling, M/M, Oral Sex, blackrom aftercare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-08 10:17:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hupsoonheng/pseuds/hupsoonheng
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first rule of fight club is that you don't give a shit. The second rule of fight club is that it's the best fucking place to meet your kismesis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There’s no bell down here. There’s no ropes, either, unless you count the crowd of sweaty beings, mostly male. It’s a pretty even mix of humans and trolls, and none of them look that pretty under the couple of bare dirty light bulbs that light this basement. 

There’s only one motherfucker you’re aware of, though. 

Dave Strider tears off his tank top like it shat on his precious fucking turntables, and it just barely misses smacking some troll in the face. It’s lucky for Dave that it hits a random human instead, because most of these star monkeys will tolerate a lot more than your average troll. Especially the kind that bets on bullshit “underground” matches. 

“Let’s go, motherfucker,” Dave starts, because he can never shut his fucking mouth for one goddamn second. He’s already squaring up, and although you know that he’s got the most experience with swordplay, his stance looks pretty competent. Maybe even a little menacing, once he puts his dukes up. “I got two sweet ladies for you to meet, and they’re called Right Hook and Left Hook, although sometimes they prefer to be called Stacy and Madonna—”

The problem is that you don’t believe in fucking stances and forms, you believe in beating the living hell out of a motherfucker until they’ve got a goddamn hole in their cheek. And you at least succeed in shutting him up when your foot connects with his gut. 

Dave stumbles back with the force of your kick and when he looks up, even through his shades you know he let you have that one. He fucking likes it. It’s not a new idea to you but every time he reminds you it makes you bare your teeth. For a non-troll he sure knows how to act like one, sometimes, and the thought makes you smile, dopey like old times, as you bring your joined fists hammering down at the top of his spine. 

He ducks under and rolls away though, and there goes his goddamn mouth again. A fucking runaway train. “What’s the matter, Makara, can’t get it up for a couple of choice babes?” He rolls back to his feet and kisses each fist. “I understand if you’re a little shy, bro. Lemme help you with that.” You might be an unpredictable mess of brute force but Dave Strider is trained for agility, and it shows when he does, in fact, introduce Stacy to your solar plexus, and Madonna to the side of your face. Or maybe it was the other way around, sometimes you just can’t be fuckin’ assed to listen to this kid’s dumbass diatribes. The second blow knocks you to the floor and you sweep out a leg that he fucking jumps. 

Nah. You like it both ways, when he lets you pound the shit out of him, and when he doesn’t pull any fucking punches, but sometimes that competence is just fucking irritating, and in less than a second you have him by the ankle and bring him crashing down to the unfinished basement floor. 

Dave skids as he lands and you can see how much he’s trying to protect his stupid fucking shades; the cost is that his cheek gets scraped full of dirt and whatever other nasty shit is all over this floor. He’s trying to kick free from your iron grip and you flex your hand in return. The wince you get out of him is real. 

For a few seconds you just hold him like that, tuning out all these assholes screaming for his blood or your blood or any blood at all, _come on grubfucker I’ve got money riding on you_ , and _i’ve got a kid to feed, Strider, kick his ass_ , on and on with that shit. 

The thing these malignant motherfuckers don’t understand is that you’re having a moment with your kismesis, here. And they’re fucking pissing on it. More than that, their shouts are worming into your head and distracting you and that’s half a fucking pair of Chucks that’s kicking you in the chest as the other half twists out of your fingers. The floor hits the back of your head hard and reverberates through your horns when those smack into the concrete, too, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t disoriented as fuck. 

You can hear the crowd jeering again, more bullshit about betting, you don’t wanna fucking hear about this lazy motherfucker’s kid no fuckin’ more! You’re still for a moment, and then you hear Dave’s voice, too. 

“Is that all you got, Makara? That weak little show?” he shouts, pounding his fists on his chest. The arrogant piece of shit starts doing a victory lap of all fucking things around the inner edge of the crowd. “I felt like I was having a cuddlefight with my fuckin’ grandma! All bakin’ me cookies, all lettin’ me watch cartoons all day long because a child should have relaxation and fun in his life. Next thing I know you’re gonna come at me with some gentle-ass cheek-pinching!” He’s doing a good job of hiding his limp, mostly, but it’s making his banter suck. 

“Nah, motherfucker, I got more in me than you can even fuckin’ dream of in that mushy piece of shit you call a thinkpan,” you say as you rise, wiping your mouth against the back of your arm reflexively. When it comes away purple, you finally fucking realize it’s the knuckleduster on Madonna—or Stacy, or whatever, fuck Strider and his stupid babbling—that’s making his punches hurt harder than usual. It’s hard for you to notice little details sometimes. 

“Fuckin’ bring it, then!” He pounds his chest again. 

And because you are that fucking tired of hearing about this human needing Strider to win so he could buy formula or someshit, you grab this dude by the leg and pull him right the fuck off his feet. Spectators are backing up like their lives depend on it, and right now you kind of feel like they really fuckin’ do. The dude you grabbed smacks his head on the floor and you don’t give a shit, because it makes it easier when you swing him around by the ankle and at Dave. 

You can see his unpigmented sparse-ass eyebrows shoot up in the split second before your human weapon connects and really, there was a valiant attempt at escape but it didn’t really work out. Dave goes crashing into members of the crowd behind him, and your weapon goes sailing through the air to do the same in the opposite direction. Your grin isn’t so dopey now. Dave’s winded, and the rush from that is motherfucking amazing even as he gets up. You feint to one side and now the whole crowd is wary of you, shying away like a herd of dumbass woolbeasts. 

You’re busy enjoying this and that’s when Dave comes at you, running through his limp to fucking leap on you. At first it’s not enough to knock you back and for a moment there he’s just hanging off your upper body like a belligerent toddler, but then whichever fist’s got the duster on it smashes into your temple and dazes you. It dawns on you that he’s got dusters on both fists when he hits you with the opposite one, and you finally topple back with Dave straddling your waist. 

He knows. You know he knows that once he’s got you down here you fucking let him rain punches down, although he keeps avoiding your actual facial features. He likes those, it seems. There’s purple blood dripping down both temples and from a particularly fun gash on your cheek, and you don’t like that you haven’t properly drawn blood. Your arm shoots up past his and draw your claws across his cheek, sharper than his weak-ass nails by fucking miles and his bright red blood beads up, falls on your face. Your grin comes back full force. 

A lot of the trolls in the crowd are sort of recognizing this for what it is and they’re kind of backing out, making disgusted noises and talking some shit about never coming to this shit hole again, if that’s what the betting is going to be all about. The human part of the group mostly doesn’t get it, and those who do still don’t care, because they still don’t really get it. 

You fucking tap out. You made him do it last week, but you know it frustrates him more when you just casually give up like that, when you both have plenty of fight left in you, and you can see it right now in the short little twist of his mouth. A bunch of agitated people throw their hands up and groan, while the rest are either looking pleased or unsettled. 

Dave heads upstairs to the house proper, and you follow him into the bathroom. When he plops down on the toilet lid and sighs, it comes out like more of a groan. You can see where the bruises are going to bloom later tonight, but more pressingly you know you saw his limp grow more pronounced once he hit the top of the stairs. You kneel at his feet and he kicks his good foot in aggravation; the rubber toe does connect, but it’s a mild annoyance at best, and you push the foot over your shoulder while you concentrate on unlacing the sneaker off his bad foot. He’s too tired to resist much more. 

“Pisses me off when you do this shit,” he growls from above, hissing a little as you ease the shoe off. “Act like you care.” 

“Motherfucker’s gotta care whether his kismesis is alive or not, otherwise ain’t no kismesis to be had,” you reply, pulling off the sock too, and you smirk when the kiss you plant on the swollen bare ankle makes him wince. 

“But you just get all _tender_ and shit,” Dave complains, and there’s more pain hisses as he slides the the knuckle dusters off his fingers. The kickback from each punch has left little blisters that want to be cuts on his knuckles, and you piss him off more by catching one hand and kissing the offending wounds. He swats you in the face for that one, but you don’t really care. 

“Can’t think of a better way to keep you hatin’ my fuckin’ ass,” you chuckle, and then you’re getting up to fish an Ace bandage out of the cabinet under the sink. (You know the host keeps this shit around for fighters to use.) When you rise Dave’s hobbled his way over from the toilet lid to stand behind you, and now you’re the annoyed one. “Sit your motherfuckin’ ass down,” you say, sneering, but he ignores you and stands on one leg to clean your cuts with a wet paper towel. He has to lean on you to keep his balance, and you let him, hands on his hips to steady him further. 

Dave turns away for a second to toss the first paper towel in the trash, with you still holding him by the hips, and when he turns back you kiss him, surprise, tender like you know frustrates him the most. There’s a little unhappy noise at first and then he’s fighting back with his mouth, grabbing you by both the hair and one horn as he gets deeper. He knows that shit gets on your nerves, and you growl into the kiss. His response is to ruin the kiss with a smirk, and to grind his hips against yours just enough to tease when you’re in a place that isn’t exactly designed to let you follow through on it. 

“You gonna be here next week?” you ask, running your fingers across Dave’s soft tight curls. 

“I’m not a sheep,” he reiterates as always, smacking your hand away, and you just stroke his hair anyway because he’s fucking nestling his head under your chin like he likes it. “I mean, yeah. Duh, of course I’ll be here to pound the shit out of you again.” 

“You fuckin’ wish,” you snort. “Yo, come the fuck back to my place tonight.” 

“I got shit to do. No.” 

“You ain’t got shit to do. Don’t be that way. Come back to my place, you dumb motherfucker, let me take care of your sorry ass.” 

“I hate you so goddamn much.” He’s not leaving the comfort of your chest. 

“Yeah, motherfucker,” you say with a sly grin, “I hate the shit outta you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also i could potentially continue this?? comments would help that happen
> 
> also big ups 2 u if you caught the specific reference to the movie within the text
> 
> the end is based on one of mulattafury's theories about kismessitude~
> 
> edit: chapter 2 is in the woiks and it's pure pwp


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i was convinced to continue this and at first it was just going to be post-fight porn that filled a bunch of mulattafury's requests but then it developed a very light bit of plot at the end?? so yeah
> 
> also obviously had to up the rating and add tags lol
> 
> jesus christ over 3500 words of porn written in three nights

In the end you convince him to come home with you. Yours is a shit-hole apartment that’s only a shit hole because you live here; if you weren’t here to trash it, it would be spacious and actually pretty fucking lovely. You’ve been to Dave’s place before though, and you know he’s got no room to judge your messy ass. So he just steps over the empty disposable pie tins and dirty dishes, picks his way through the clothes in need of a wash, same as you do. 

He starts heading toward the ablution block because that’s where all the medical supplies and the running water is, but you pull him back by the hood until he chokes a little. “Nah, motherfucker, get your ass in the respiteblock.” 

“You wanna fuck me with a bum foot?” Dave snorts, and you boot him in the ass because you don’t take no for an answer when it’s silly shit like this. 

While Dave limps through the clutter to your respiteblock—or “bedroom” like he calls it, high-falutin’ fuckface that he is—you head toward the ablution block yourself. Bathroom. Whatever the fuck. Secretly, you prefer the human terminology, though; shit that ends with "block" sounds so dumb and outdated you don't like to let it leave your fucking mouth. 

You collect what you need to take care of the dumbass sitting in your respiteblock, and go meet him there, where he's sitting on your bed. He’s already pulled off his shirt and shoes, inspecting the Ace bandage, and you realize as you look at him that his ankle aside, he did way more damage to you tonight than you did to him. 

So you drop the medical shit on the bed, and you jump him. 

The first thing you do is you bite, indiscriminately before you concentrate your efforts on his shoulders, his chest. “Pasty motherfucker,” you growl, and you bite deeper this time into the thick muscle that strings his shoulder to his neck, so you draw blood instead of bruising. He headbutts you for that particular comment, says something you don’t understand about being as black as some human celebrity whose name you don’t recognize. You know humans come in different colors on the outside, unlike trolls, but when someone talks to you about being black, you think first about how much you get off on breaking Dave’s body. 

“Don’t you call me pasty, you sorry piece of shit clown,” Dave snarls, and you respond by scraping your teeth down his jaw. The shudder you get in response is vindication enough for you. He grabs you by the shoulders, though, and he rolls the both of you so you end up on bottom. When he winces from whacking his bad foot you grin, and grin harder when that makes him scowl. You let him keep you pinned with his hips like the motherfucker’s got any real strength compared to you, as he leans over to where you dropped the shit from the bathroom. 

“These cuts are fuckin’ ugly,” he mumbles, cleaning them, and you let yourself relax in the moment, closing your eyes while he works. You can feel your paint coming away too as he wipes away dried blood and basement dirt, but you two are long past the stage of giving a shit about hiding your faces. A minute later he pauses, and you open your eyes like _The fuck’s the problem?_ He’s giving you some kind of tender look that’s fucking with your head, though, and you glare at him to let him know what you think about that. 

“If I didn’t, you know, hate you or whatever, I’d tell you that you got a good face under all this shit,” he says, kind of softly, kind of sweetly, and to counter all the red emotion that just flooded the room you grab him by the wrist and sink your teeth in. You can’t deal with that kind of quadrant-flipping shit, even if Dave in all his humanity doesn’t see it that way. 

He yelps and falls forward to lie on you, chest to chest. You never get tired of the alien geography of his naked body, the freakish nubs on his chest, the fake orifice between them and his alien junk. When he sits up he favors the arm you didn’t just chomp on, and you lick red blood off your upper lip. 

“I can’t be doing this shit, I got a fucked-up ankle to let heal, thanks to _your_ overzealous ass,” Dave says, pounding you in the chest in emphasis. “Don’t you get fuckin’ kinky on me when I’m trying to patch you up.” 

“I didn’t do shit,” you laugh in response, clasping your hands behind your head. “You said some red-sounding dumbassery and I told you what I thought of that. With my mouth, like I’m supposed to.” 

“With _words,_ you dumb fuck,” he retorts, and this time he slaps your chest so hard he actually manages to make it sting. 

“I ain’t gotta do shit you say!” You laugh again, until a strong freckly hand forces you to stop when it wraps around your throat and squeezes. 

“You don’t wanna use your words? Fine, you be that way,” Dave says in a low voice, leaning toward the side of your head so it sounds like booming. The lack of airflow makes him sound even louder, somehow. “You don’t get words, how ‘bout that?” 

You open your mouth as if you could force words past the hand on your neck; Dave’s reaction is to kiss that open mouth, suck out what little air is left. The hand that isn’t making your world bright and dark at the same time is twining up into your knotty hair, curling around a horn like it’s a handle. When Dave comes away so he can get the air you can’t have, you almost wish you could look through his eyes, see what the fuck he sees when he looks down at you. The dizziness gives you bedroom eyes, that much you know. 

He finally lets go, and as you take a deep gasping breath Dave descends again, grabbing you by both horns now as he kisses you like he’s trying to kill you with it. His hips are writhing against yours and when you remember how to speak you’re pretty sure you’re gonna call his shit on that. 

“Thought you had no time to fuck,” you say with a short bark of a laugh that ends as a cough. “Now look who’s fuckin’ grinding on who, motherfucker!” 

“You got no vocabulary, you know that?” Dave says, grabbing at your shirt collar like he thinks he’s gonna tear it apart like the Hulk. All he does is stretch out the collar, though, and you give him a rough shove so you can yank your own shirt off. 

“I got plenty of vocabulary, I just got some favorite words is all.” When you sit up Dave has zero power to stop you, and you flip the two of you over. Now it’s his turn as you push him down by the throat, thumb pressing until he gasps, and your other hand skates down his body to the cold metal button of his pants. He must have bought these at fucking Hot Topic because as soon as the button’s flicked open the zipper gives way on its own, and you laugh without letting him in on the joke. 

It doesn’t matter though because you skip the teasing and shove your hand into his underwear to take a firm grasp of his cock, your other hand still giving him only enough air to stay alive. When you glance downward, you see purple cotton, same shade as the shit that runs through your veins, and you laugh harder. “Motherfucker!” you say with an accusatory grin. “You been planning to fuck since before the fight!” Precum leaks from Dave’s dick in response when its owner can’t, and you use that for crappy lube for at least a few seconds. Raw junk doesn’t do you any good, much as you like to cause Dave pain. 

You bring both hands up, going looking for that bottled lubrication that Dave’s inadequate species has to use most of the time, and while Dave’s still coughing he leaps on you, flings you closer to the headboard. He climbs on top of you again even while he’s struggling to breathe again, like it’s that fucking important. “Fuck you,” he gasps, before he leans down and bites you as hard as his blunt teeth can manage, just below the angle of your jaw. You give him credit; when he really tries, it feels like he has some real tearing power. 

“You promise?” you ask, your facial expression somewhere between a sly grin and a sneer, tongue held gingerly between your teeth. 

“Yeah, I really fuckin’ do,” Dave replies. It sounds off-handed when he says it but he stays on that course, using both hands to get your pants open while he kisses you forcefully, his head held in both of yours. It feels like it’s been too long since you too fucked, because you almost forgot the shock of pleasure you get when Dave slides the pads of his fingers along the sheath of your bulge and ever so delicately around the edges of your nook. You do remember the first time you fucked each other, the weird shit he said when he first got your pants off—“Holy shit, you have a pussy!” being the most memorable. 

With your combined efforts, your shoes and pants are kicked and yanked off and thrown in the corner in a matter of seconds, briefs trapped inside the latter. Dave resists at first and then his go flying after yours. Before you can even touch him again, he’s kneeling between your spread knees and drawing his fingers up around your nook to tease at the slit of your sheath, _knock knock, bone bulge, come out to motherfucking play._ Your bulge accepts that invitation so fast you throw your head back and groan as it shakes Dave’s hand. It twines up his wrist and you rock into it shamelessly, before his next move grounds you. 

“Yeah, you fuckin’ like that, don’t you?” Dave says as his first two fingers stroke just barely inside your nook. You think you spot a malevolent smile on his face, and in retaliation you kick his shades off. You never get tired of those red lamps. Or of Dave fingering you, either. 

“What’re you, fuckin’ stupid?” you ask. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ stop.” 

He ignores you, lowering his face nearer to your crotch. “Jesus, doesn’t take much to get you sopping the fuck wet,” he says, almost snide. “I’m just touchin’ you a little, dude, calm your moon-tits. Don’t tell me you’re already thinking about—”

You cut him off before he can start trotting out his shitty, mood-killing euphemisms for his own junk. “Why don’t you suck my nook, motherfucker?” you spit, and it’s mostly bravado but really, that shit turns you to jello—it's your favorite fucking thing, you're pretty sure. “Come on, I learned to suck that noodle you call a bone-bulge.” 

“A _noodle!”_ Dave splutters, and you cackle because when he’s turned on it’s way easier to rile him. When his brain’s all lust-foggy he’s got almost no comebacks. 

“You goddamn heard me,” you say, smug-faced. 

“You don’t seem to think it’s a noodle when it’s jammed up inside you,” he says in return, crawling up to lean in close, “all thick and stretching out your weird alien pussy—”

“I said I fuckin’ hate that word!” You sit up and punch him, almost in the ear. 

“Pussy,” he simpers when he bounces back, and he ducks your next punch. You almost wind up for another one when his fingers curl deeper inside you, and you go ragdoll-floppy on the bed. It’s not like a trigger button on you or anything, but it definitely tells your body _pay some fucking attention, this is more important_ and you’re pretty fucking inclined to listen. 

“You do like me inside you, though, don’t you,” Dave says, almost sneering. “A lot different from these things, huh?” He slides a hand up the waving length of your bulge and he kisses the tip gently before giving it a lick. You shudder, glaring at him. 

“I said suck my motherfuckin’ nook,” you say, cocking your chin defiantly. 

You don’t expect him to comply so quickly. In only a few seconds he’s dropping down flat between your legs, one hand massaging the base of your bulge while the other holds the sides of your nook open for his tongue. He licks into the opening of it, from bottom to top and then he’s licking your bulge. You shudder and your fingers twitch and curl in on themselves when the strength goes out of them; you think the biggest reason he ever does this for you is how much it fucks you up. It’s like he’s making out with your nook instead of your face, lips pressed to the wet edges before his tongue snakes out again and swirls inside you once, twice, oops you lose track when your thighs press around the sides of his face and you bite your lip to keep quiet. 

When Dave surfaces his chin is fucking glistening with sticky purple, which he halfway cleans up with a swipe of his tongue. “I see you trying to keep quiet up there, dumbass,” he breathes. You don’t stop him when he slaps you across the face, and the groan you were holding in escapes. “I want you to make fucking _noise_ for me.” 

“You gotta earn that shit,” you retort. 

“Fine by me,” he says with a shrug. You almost yelp when he grabs you by the hips and hoists them in the air, but when he throws your legs over both his shoulders you see where he’s going with this. His hands latch around the tops of your thighs and he throws himself into eating out your nook like it’s his favorite thing in the world. This time you do let yourself moan; he fucking earned the right to hear it, after all, just like he said he would. Your bulge spasms on your belly, unattended, and with Dave too busy to take care of it you reach for it yourself, breathing hard. You get in one or two strokes before Dave comes up just long enough to fucking bite your hand, and you claw the unmarred side of his face in retaliation. 

You’re so fucking close, and that’s when Dave chooses to drop your hips unceremoniously back on the mattress. “Why the fuck would you stop?” you snarl, and if you didn’t want this fucker to stick around you’d fucking gore him, spill his guts all over this fucking room, you’re so fucking mad right now. 

“This night is not just about you,” Dave says, sitting back as he crosses his arms, but it’s hard to take him seriously with his dick pointing straight up like that. Then again, you guess that you’re supposed to be taking better notice of it. 

“Well, _Davey,”_ you say, and it’s worth it for the scowl that flickers across his face, “what do you wanna do?” 

He licks his lips. “Don’t you fuckin’ play, you know exactly what I want.” 

You smirk, spread your knees wide. “You wanna fuck me.” 

“Like you had to guess.” 

“I didn’t say I was guessing, bitch, I stated the motherfucking facts.” You scoot back, haphazardly arrange the pillows between your back and the headboard. “So come the fuck over here.” 

He’s done with concentrating on pleasing you, apparently, because as soon as you give him the okay like that he fucking scrambles over and takes only the barest few seconds to arrange himself before he’s pushing in with a loud groan. He curses a whole fucking lot, nonsensical bullshit that you tune out as he sinks in. You admit, as he grabs your horns like fuck-handles, that it’s pretty good for you too, in this weird-ass alien way. Nooks and bulges are basically made for each other, two fairly precise puzzle pieces, and his cock can’t move like a bulge can. Instead it’s thick and blunt, stretches you tight and makes you feel full inside even though it reaches maybe like a third of the way inside. Dave’s human body heats up when he’s turned on, too, and his dick is like fucking fire inside your sopping nook. 

As he thrusts into you, almost all his dumb fucking pretense gets dropped; there’s no filter on his happy sex noises, and his kisses have a different kind of savagery to them, less like he’s trying to break skin and more like he just can’t fucking help himself. When he’s not kissing you he looks you in the eye, and you won’t ever fucking tell him how much that unnerves the shit out of you. 

Your bulge is getting no attention still, and it starts to slither downward, the thin tip pushing in next to Dave’s cock. It sets off bursts of _Fuck! Oh, fuck!_ and _Holy shit!_ but he doesn’t stop. Your bulge keeps pushing in and starts to wrap around Dave’s dick, as best as it can anyway with his jackrabbit thrusting, and he lets go of your horns to scratch at your chest with his dull nails. His face radiates heat and redness, his eyes are hooded, his breath is ragged.

“Gamzee,” he pants, staring you down with those red eyes as he tries to slow down his thrusting. The way he caresses your face is so red it alarms the fuck out of you, but then he says, “You’re a piece of shit.” You relax. Your mutual feelings are as black as ever. 

“But I don’t even know anymore what I’d do without your sorry ass.” And just like that your body seizes up with fucking quadrant panic, you don’t know all the rules of kismesissitude but that doesn’t sound like it fits, that sounds red red _red_ as shit. 

“Don’t say shit like that,” you mutter, and just like that your bulge withdraws from its place around Dave’s dick, lies still on your belly. You’re not completely pulled out of the moment yet but you think it’s only a matter of moments. 

“What? I’m just being honest,” Dave snaps, pulling out in irritation. “Fuck, I was so close...” 

“Oh please, motherfucker, like you didn’t just do the same bullshit to me like, a minute ago.” You sit up with a scowl; there’s viscous purple fluid dripping everywhere and with Dave’s slip of the tongue it seems less sexy and more just gross. 

“Look, I’m sorry if I—”

“No, don’t be sorry, you dumb motherfucker! You’re breaking all the fucking rules!” You throw a pillow in his face, hard enough to knock him down. “You don’t fucking tell me you need me, I don’t need to be hearing that shit! You’re my kismesis, you weird alien fucker! Fuck, you don’t understand _shit,_ do you?” 

“Hey, whoa, no fuckin’ need to be calling me all those names!” he shouts, and he throws the pillow back but you just punch it out of the air. 

“Look,” you say, trying to be patient for just this one moment, “I’m just sayin’ I don’t need this goddamn quadrant vacillation. We both know we,” you swallow, making a sour face, “ _need_ each other but we don’t fucking say it. That’s some quadrant vacillation fuckery going on there, and that’s some shit I don’t need in my life, you got me?” 

“Well, see, this is why it was on _your_ ass when you chose to ‘wax black’ for a dumb human,” Dave snorts. “Karkat wants to tell me all this boring shit about how all the quadrants work and I don’t see why you can’t subscribe to a little humanity in your relationships. Don’t be coming up with fancy names for each kind of feeling, just mash it all up together and be happy with however it turns out. Doesn’t have to be a bunch of fucking absolutes.” He crosses his arms again. 

“Now hold up, my hypocritical motherfucker, didn’t your people come up with fancy names for relationships based on the goddamn _genders_ of the humans involved?” You give him an incredulous look, your elbow resting on your knee as you lean your head against your loose knuckles. 

“That’s not—whatever, I don’t deal with that shit,” he mutters, sinking down into himself. “All I’m saying is don’t have a fuckin’ ‘quadrant panic’ or whatever it’s called just because I get a little honest when I’m horny. I don’t know all your dumb rules.” 

It’s hard to break away from everything you know about relationships, even with your mind sharper than ever. But Dave probably has a point, considering he’s gone some pretty huge fucking lengths to understand and participate in kismesissitude. 

“Alright, fine,” you concede, huffing out a strong sigh. “Can we just, I dunno, talk about this shit later? When we’re not fuckin’ naked?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, alright.” He sits on the edge of the bed, visibly pouting. 

So you jump him for the second time that night, and finish what you started earlier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so there's going to be more because there's one BIG request i didn't fulfill in this, but i need to brainstorm on plot and including other characters more first. if y'all got predictions or thoughts just throw em out there, idk


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